


Biology

by hailingstars



Series: we're all just wearing masks [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Peter Parker, Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, eventually, flash thompson is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:49:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: Peter Stark tries to protect two secret identities, Spider-Man and Peter Parker, but he starts to unravel when he fears he's about to be exposed for being a fraud. A fake Stark. And nothing more than the spawn of a psychopath and the product of a lab. Also, he might actually suffocate under Tony's concern any day now.





	1. the rumors

1\. the rumors

Peter’s head pokes out from behind the corner of a building. He’s watching a man wearing a beanie jam a slim jim up and down into the driver’s side window of a parked car. The rest of the street is deserted, besides the two of them, and lit by one flickering streetlight. All the others have gone completely dim. He’s been at it for several minutes. This repeated motion, and every so often, with the car door remains locked, he makes a growl of frustration. 

A dumb thief. Can’t even steal a car that’s outdated enough to have a manual locking system.

And that’s where the debate starts for Peter, why he hasn’t swooped into action with his web-shooters and Spidey suit just yet. If he’s going to make mistakes as Spider-Man, he’s determined to learn from them.

He straightens out, decides there’s no real reason to hide since his face is already hidden behind a mask, and starts towards the man. His concentration can’t be parted from the car, or maybe, all those lessons with Nat about taking light steps are finally paying off. Peter wants to believe it’s the latter. He comes to a stop, frowns when he’s still unnoticed, then kicks at a few chucks of concrete that’s come apart from the road.

When that still doesn’t get the man’s attention, Peter clears his throat. The possible thief jumps, then spins around to face him, and the tool in his hands falls to the ground by his feet. 

“Hey man,” says Peter. His mouth is twitching, almost like he wants to say something, but has no idea what words to use. Peter gets this a lot these days. Queens natives just aren’t used to seeing a kid dressed up in spandex fighting crime. “So hi… just a quick question, are you a bad guy?”

“W-what?” he asks. His mouth is hanging open this time, instead of moving up and down, but after a few seconds, it slams shut. His features grow sharper, the shock of Peter’s appearance wearing off. “Who the hell are you supposed to be? This isn’t Halloween.”

“Just a friendly neighborhood hero,” says Peter. “Spider-Man.”

“You sound like a kid.” He breaks out into laughter. “You know, you missed trick or treating by a few months.”

They always laugh. At first. He’s usually quick to make them stop.

“Well you look a car thief,” he tells him. “But last time I busted a guy for this sort of thing it turned out to be _his_ car and then I felt awful about ruining his night and webbing him up for no reason, so if you could just answer my question you’ll help speed this process along.”

“This is my car. Locked myself out.”

“Oh,” says Peter. He takes a few steps backwards and looks over the empty street, then trains his spider eyes back on the thief. “You’re a bad liar. And bad at stealing things. If you’re going to be a criminal, can’t you at least be good at it?”

Several things happen at once. One of them is the bane of Spider-Man’s patrols. The alarm that goes off to alert him it’s dangerously close to curfew. The other sets off Peter’s finely tuned web-shooter reflexes. Webs fly out and cover the thief’s hands before they can reach the gun strapped on his belt.

“W-what is this stuff?” he asks, as he’s trying to pull his hands apart.

“Really? You were going to shoot me?” Peter aims some more webs at his feet. “Not cool. I thought we starting to become friends.”

He’s not listening to Peter. He’s still struggling in vain to free himself from the webs.

“Don’t worry. It’ll dissolve once the police show up.” Peter tilts his head, thinking, then frowns under his mask. “Or maybe afterwards. They might be waiting awhile, actually…. Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I’m going to miss curfew.”

Peter extends his arm to the sky, shoots a web upwards and watches as clings to the side of the building before propelling himself upwards. The thief misses his trick, still too concerned with being stuck, and it’s Peter’s biggest disappointment of his night on patrol. He loves seeing the stunned expression on people’s faces as he flings himself up and away. It’s his favorite part. Soaring from building to building, catapulting through the air. There isn’t anything in the world like it, nothing else that makes him feel as free as this, and the first time out on his own, it’d been like meeting a friend he didn’t know he missed.

On the way to his destination, he gives the police a quick call and gives a tip with all the correct information, then hangs up just in time to clear his landing. He’s on the roof of a familiar building, and he walks directly to the metal trash can in the corner, opens the lid, pulls out his bookbag and unzips, grabbing his street clothes. He changes quickly, stuffs Spider-Man into the bag, then climbs down the fire escape, wearing normal, unnoticeable clothing.

They can’t risk it. Someone seeing Spider-Man crawling or swinging in and out of the penthouse where Iron Man lives with his family. The rumors it might create on top of the rumors that already exist. It’s better if there’s no connection between the two. Safer. Peter doesn’t know who’s more dependent on Spider-Man’s identity staying a secret, him or Tony.

It means a little more to Peter, or at least, he thinks it does. He’s keeping more than one identity a secret. He’s Peter Parker pretending to be Peter Stark who sometimes dresses up and protects the streets of Queens. A line of dominoes, really, because if one is revealed, the rest will follow.

Peter makes it back to Manhattan, back to the penthouse exactly one minute before the clock strikes one. It’s early for a curfew, but at first Tony wanted to make it midnight. There had been a negotiation involved. Pepper mediated, and the end result landed on one AM.

“How was it?”

The question is fired the very second Peter steps off the elevator. He looks around in the direction of the voice to see Tony standing at the kitchen table with a box of pizza, and it’s the smell that entices him forward. As he gets closer, he notices there’s a tablet lying flat on the table next to where Tony is standing, with a YouTube video opened on the screen.

“Good. No injuries,” says Peter. His eyes drop to the pizza. He’s indignant, though his stomach is begging him for food. Nothing makes him hungry like a night of patrolling Queens. “You know, I’m probably the only vigilante that his – that has someone waiting up for them with snacks.”

“Everyone has someone.” 

“I’m Spider-Man. I’m tough,” says Peter. He tries to stand a bit taller. “You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“You’re fourteen. Your metabolism pays the shopper’s second mortgage,” says Tony. Peter takes a seat on the chair across from where he’s standing, and he pushes the pizza box across the table to him. “Eat.”

Peter grabs the biggest slice from the box, and as he’s leaning over the table, catches the title of the video Tony has queued up.

“What Peter Stark’s icy Christmas Eve tells us about Tony Stark’s parenting.” Peter squints his eyes to catch the channel’s name. It’s some news station’s YouTube channel. “You’re watching those guys? MJ says they’re just propaganda, not news.”

“Apparently they’re also trying to compete with TMZ,” says Tony. “Someone’s been taking pictures of you coming in and out of Dr. Walters’ office.” 

“Great,” says Peter, then struggles with a stray piece of cheese, dangling half in his mouth and half on the pizza. The battle only ends when Peter uses his free hand to disconnect it.

“Yeah, you’re looking real tough right now.” Tony throws a waded-up napkin at him. “You’re being careful, right? To not be seen as Spider-Man?”

Peter nods. “Can I go out again tomorrow?”

Tony just looks at him. It’s true they’ve had this discussion. Tomorrow is Sunday, and not only Sunday, but his last day of being a kid who doesn’t attend school. The start of a new semester. And he’s excited about that. Finally getting to go back to school. He’s not excited about Tony putting even more limits on his time as Spider-Man.

“A week is too long,” says Peter. “I can’t wait until Friday.”

“I think you’re underestimating how difficult going back to school is going to be. With all the discourse around… everything.” Tony’s eyes flicker back to the tablet for a few seconds then return to Peter. “Just this week. Just so you can adjust, and then we’ll work out a better schedule for Spider-Man, alright?” 

“Yeah, okay,” says Peter. Sounds fair, even if he isn’t looking forward to taking a week off from being Spider-Man, from the feeling of being completely free and slicing through the air.

He continues munching on the pizza as Tony reads something on the tablet. Another article, probably, and Peter doesn’t understand why he’s become so obsessed with reading everything that comes about speculating about the Norman Osborn scandal, about what really happened the night Harry Osborn disappeared.  Maybe it’s his job as an Avenger to stay informed about what people are thinking, or maybe it’s just his latest obsession, one to replace Oscorp now he has no reason to be researching it. 

Peter finishes with his pizza and makes a move to stand up and head to bed when Tony stops him. He pulls a folder from a black bag on the table. Peter recognizes it. It’s the folder that holds all those childhood photos with his family. He’d forgotten all about it, and seeing it again causes something unpleasant to unfold in his stomach, like the pizza is fighting to come back up.

“I found this when I was cleaning up the workshop today,” he tells him. “Figured it’s about time you had it.” 

“Oh thanks,” says Peter. He accepts it from Tony just for the show it. If he doesn’t, Tony will stress out and he’ll call Dr. Walters and it’s really a lot of drama he rather avoid, so instead, he pretends it’s not a problem.

Like the sight of randomly being handed evidence of a life he’s trying to keep buried, to stay disconnected from, isn’t distressing. Plays it cool as he thanks Tony for the after-patrol pizza and tells him goodnight.

Once he’s hidden in his bedroom with the door shut, he stands staring at the folder in his hands, considering popping it open. He’s made peace with his past. He’s made peace with remembering his past in every detail that he’s capable of, but this… this is evidence. Maybe the last remaining relic of the Parker’s since he’s denounced his last name for good.

There’s some part of him that wants to burn it, make it impossible for anyone else to see, but when he realizes there’s no way of him to do so without alerting Tony or Pepper, he settles for shoving it in the back of some drawer he doesn’t use. At least now he won’t have to look at it.

Maybe he’ll even forget it’s there.

* * *

 

School on Monday morning isn’t as bad as Tony told him it would be. 

He repeats that in his head over and over again as he’s forced to deal with, once again, people whispering behind his back, brave classmates assaulting him with questions about Harry to his face, and finally, the regular amount of attention and fame having Stark as a last name attracts. Taking months off of school plus the added scandal of his best friend’s disappearance seems to have made him target number one.

The person everyone wants to talk to for all the wrong reasons.

By lunch time, he’s giving up on his mantra altogether and considers letting Tony be right. All he wants to do is sit with Ned and MJ, like the old days, and talk to Ned about the new season of their favorite show hitting Netflix. MJ has other ideas, and adding to his misery is Ned, who seems curious about all of her questions. 

“This feels like an interrogation.”

Peter’s eyes shift from Ned to MJ. Behind them, the cafeteria is as bright and noisy as he remembers, with all its moving parts. Students with trays, students yell-talking to be heard over the other million conversations happening all at once, teachers patrolling and annoying posters advising healthy eating habits. It gives him a headache.

“It wouldn’t feel like an interrogation if you didn’t have anything to hide,” says MJ. Her book is sitting unopened on the side of her lunch tray instead of in front of her face, like it usually is, and she doesn’t take her eyes off Peter while the cross-examination continues. It’s as if her eyes see right through him, as if she thinks she’s as skilled as someone like Nat in uncovering the truth.

“I don’t have anything to hide,” says Peter. His palms are open, his position relaxed. Just like Nat and Clint taught him so many months ago. Either Ned nor MJ look convinced, though, despite his efforts. “Come on guys, if I knew where Harry was, why wouldn’t I be talking to the police?” 

“That is the question…” MJ trails off, and Peter rolls his eyes, opting to take a drink from his water bottle for an easy excuse not to respond.

His eyes trail past them again and land on Flash. He’s sitting at a table with a bunch of people Peter doesn’t know, or care to know, for that matter. He doesn’t need to focus his hearing in on the table to know the rumors about him are the topic of their conversation, too. They’re whispering, with their heads put together, as if they would need to whisper to not be heard with all the noise happening in the cafeteria, and every so often, one of them looks over at him.

He’s used to being talked about, but not like this. He misses the days people talked about him because his association with Tony, or because they wanted a photo with him.

Once he’s done taking more than a couple exaggerated long drinks and it’s clear his friends aren’t going to let this specific topic go anytime soon, he switches his attention to Ned. 

“You really think I know where he is and I’m keeping it quiet?”

“Well,” says Ned. “It’s just all a little suspicious, that’s all, like one minute we’re all eating lunch together than the next Harry’s dad is some criminal, Harry’s missing and you’re saying you’re going to be out of school the rest of the semester.”

“I already told both of you why I had to leave school.”

He tries and fails to keep the frustration out of his voice. To keep going over this when he wants distance from it. The lie he’s been instructed to tell hits a little bit too close to home for him to be comfortable with it. Time to adjust. To work on his mental health. He can only guess at what everyone else is thinking, but he feels he’s pretty accurate.

Poor Peter Stark. Heir to billions but still can’t think straight, even after months of therapy.

“I like the theory that you’re the killer the best,” says MJ.

“What? Why would I ever be the killer?” 

“You don’t really seem to care that your best friend’s missing…”

“I care,” says Peter. 

The thing is, it’s sort of hard to pretend to be distraught over Harry’s disappearance when he knows Harry is perfectly fine, maybe even better than ever, living his best life out on a farm in the middle of nowhere, where he can draw and play video games with Cooper and Lila.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Peter looks at his watch, and for once in his life, he’s thankful the end of the lunch period is near.  The bell rings as if on cue, not saving him from a teacher but from MJ’s questions, and he’s at the trash cans dumping his tray before another word can leave her mouth. He doesn’t stick around for Ned, either, and instead zips to his locker to grab his textbook and straight to class. This period it’s Biology.

Another letdown. It’s without Ned, and when he gets to the doorway of the classroom, he stops in his tracks when his eyes fall over the projection of a seating chart on the white board. It’s the classic sign of an uncool teacher. The kind who doesn’t let the assigned seating happen naturally over the course of the first week. The kind who feels they need to control it themselves.

As luck would have it, this particular teacher sat him right next to Flash, and since it’s in the science wing, instead of being uncomfortable just having a desk right next to him, he has to be doubly uncomfortable sharing a worktable with him. The table in the very center, and that’s the very worse place to be with everyone spreading rumors about him. 

“Is there a problem Stark?”

Peter tears his gaze away from the seating chart and finds the speaker. A man wearing a sweater vest and khakis. Mr. Brewer, he’s guessing, his new biology teacher.

“Umm no,” says Peter. “Sorry… just spaced out.”

He moves from the doorway and sits at the worktable just as the late bell rings. Flash glares at him, as if he’s choosing to sit here out of his own free will. 

A good-natured order comes from Mr. Brewer to for everyone to quiet down, as he shuffles around the room passing out sheets of paper, as he introduces himself. He gives the same I’m-a-teacher-but-I’m-still-human speech all the other teachers give, and it’s really predictable. Until he gets to the worktable Flash and Peter share, and he passes two sheets of paper to each of them. 

He pauses, looks Peter dead in the eye and says, “Get comfortable with your neighbor. They’re going to be your lab and project partner for the rest of the semester.” 

If Peter thought he could have audibly protested, he would’ve, but there’s a look on Mr. Brewer’s face he doesn’t like. Instead, he exchanges more glares with Flash. At least they’re on the same page about their miserable situation. 

The projection of the seating chart is replaced by a projection of the syllabus, prompting Peter take a glance at the papers given to him. One is a permission slip to go and tour Lilly Research Laboratories. He’s never heard of it. He slides it under the syllabus and looks back to the front of the classroom as Mr. Brewer begins to explain what to expect out of his Biology course. 

“So… Stark,” says Flash, he leans over and quiets his voice. “Where did you hide the body?”

Peter’s been with Tony enough times during media ambushes to know how to handle bad questions, or at least, how Tony handles them. Make a comment to mock the asker’s stupidity or ignore them completely. Starks don’t have time to deal with idiots. That’s the path he chooses, because he can’t afford to get caught talking out of turn with a teacher he’s pretty sure already hates him.

He keeps his focus where it’s supposed to be, up front and on Mr. Brewer, while Flash continues to whisper at him.

“Or maybe daddy hid it for you?” 

Peter pushes his pencil down and the tip of the lead breaks off. He clicks the end a few times to make more appear and takes notes. 

“Or maybe Iron Man offed Harry as revenge for what Norman did to all those other kids. Maybe he turned Harry into some mutant f –“

“-Shut up, Flash,” says Peter, finally snapping. No matter how hard he tries, he can never play it as cool as Tony.

“Stark,” says Mr. Brewer, and Peter’s spirit drops. He forces his eyes back to Brewer. “I understand you’re used to being treated like a celebrity but we’re all going to be treated the same in this classroom. No one talks while I’m talking, no matter how important they may think they are.” 

Peter clicks his pencil again, unsure of how to respond. He knows how Tony would respond in this situation, but that’s not appropriate here. He just stares back. Opting to go with his original way of dealing with his problems, and eventually, Mr. Brewer moves on, taking his attention as well as the rest of the classroom’s away for Peter and back to his boring syllabus.

“…and as you can see,” Mr. Brewer goes on and points a laser pointer at a single word on the board, but his eyes settle back on Peter. “… we’ll be spending a lot of time talking about genetics.”

Peter grips his pencil tighter as he tries fights back the fear creeping through his brain waves. That Mr. Brewer is using word play. That he knows about him. That any one of these kids walking around in the school’s hallways or any person out in the world could stumble upon the truth easily. It’d be easy, giving the timing when Peter Stark was introduced into the world via press conference and the bust of new life.

Easy for someone to guess Peter is one of those mutant freaks Flash talks about. 

That he’s no Stark. Tony isn’t really his father, but he’s just some son of a crazy, psychopath scientist. 

Something squeezes in his chest, something like a warning, or the noise that used to fill his head. The room spins, and his eyes dart around the room searching for something to bring him back out of his thoughts. The cool, black table under his hands, a poster on the wall behind where Mr. Brewer half-sits on his desk while he goes on and on about Biology, the analog clock hung up on the wall. He takes a slow breath in, then exhales, and he’s back.

He avoids looking at Mr. Brewer directly the rest of the period and spends the rest of the day in a haze. Not really listening to his teachers, or his friends, or the people whispering behind his back.

Peter takes the elevator directly down to the workshop when he gets home, and finds Tony kneeling next to one of his newest Iron Man suits on the floor. He slings his bookbag on the desk and jumps up on desk next to it instead of sitting in the chair.

“Can I go out as Spider-Man tonight?”

Tony looks up from his work, shoots him with a stern look, then looks back down.

“But why not?” asks Peter. It’s a long-shot. He knows the chances of Tony giving in aren’t great, but he has to at least try. 

He needs Spider-Man, because Spider-Man is always in control, even when Peter Stark isn’t and is about to be exposed for the fraud he actually is by his biology teacher.

“All the reasons we discussed the other night still apply.” 

Peter gives him a heavy sigh, but he knows from the tone being used not to push Tony anymore. 

He jumps off the desk, begins rifling through his bookbag and pulls out a few of his homework assignments for the evening. This time he settles into the actual chair and gets comfortable as he zips through his homework to the familiar sounds of metal clanking against metal. He’s almost completely done when Tony’s head pops up from the suit.

Peter has the permission slip ready and waiting by the time Tony joins him at the desk. 

“Sign this for me?”

“In trouble already?” asks Tony, snatching the paper out of his hands. “Lily Research? Why are you guys going there?”

“Maybe cause my biology teacher’s psycho.”

Tony scribbles his signature across the bottom line and slides the paper back across the desk. “You gonna find something to eat before Happy picks you up for your appointment?”

“I forgot about Dr. Walters,” says Peter. Shoulders falling. “But… maybe I could skip just this once.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Peter can tell by Tony’s expression, his suddenly darkened eyes, that alarm bells are ringing in his head. Now he’s being looked at as if he’s just another problem that needs to be solved.  

“Did you have a bad day today?”

“No. It was great.”

“So you’re absolutely fine?”

“Yeah,” says Peter. He slams his textbook shut and works on packing up all his things back into his bookbag, though he can still feel Tony’s worried gaze slicing into him. 

“You haven’t tried to get out of going to a session in a long time,” says Tony, and Peter sits back up, becomes completely still. He doesn’t look at Tony. “I’m gonna call Happy and tell him I’m driving you tonight.” 

It’s Tony’s less obvious and nice way of telling him he knows he’s hiding something, and he’s going to personally see it that he gets to his appointment.

“Go on upstairs and get ready, almost time to leave.”

“Okay.”

He pulls his bookbag on his shoulders, and trudges to the elevator.

No point in arguing. Not when it comes to therapy. Tony will make him go, no matter how bad he claims his stomach hurts, or how tired he claims to be. Peter’s tried, unashamedly, every excuse he could think of, and the day he ran out of the imagination to create new ones, he stopped actively resisting and accepted it as part of his life. At least until today. Today he slipped up.

He’s determined not to do it again.

And he does manage to dodge all of Tony’s pointed questions on the ride over to the office, and even manages to steer the conversation away from school and rumors and biology teachers in Dr. Walter’s office. Of course, when it’s over, Tony and Dr. Walters talk privately for longer than Peter appreciates. He hates being stuck in the waiting room with his sound-proof headphones Tony makes him wear when he doesn’t want to be overheard. 

“Hey Tony,” says Peter, as he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Do you think we can trust Dr. Walters?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“She knows about… me,” says Peter. “Where I come from. What if she says something? Like to the media?”

“That’s against the law,” says Tony. “I wouldn’t worry about it, kid. She’s one of Pepper’s oldest friends, and she’s got great taste in people.” 

Peter silently agrees as the car pulls out of the parking lot. He likes Dr. Walters, even if he doesn’t enjoy being dragged to therapy to discuss things he rather just leave alone. She’s not a threat to this illusion they’ve built, but he does still worry about other people figuring it out. He can’t shut it off, just like Tony can’t stop fretting over him. A vicious cycle, really, and one Peter fears will swallow them both up.


	2. the rabbit

  1. the rabbit



 

The rumors wind down. They fade quickly, replaced by someone else’s misfortune, and someone else’s after that, forever propelling the cycle of gossip and scandal forward. Peter doesn’t know the ends and outs of the newest tragedy. There’s no space in his brain for something so petty, not when he’s busy keeping himself on guard for the day when new rumors about him surface, for the day when Mr. Brewer or someone else discovers who Peter Stark is in reality and announces to the world.

He stays tense and alert and ready for that moment at all times, but until then, he can at least let himself feel grateful that not every day at school is as horrible as his first. Sometimes, mostly in those lucky classes he shares with Ned, life almost seems normal, like he’s just any other kid going to school, and the rest of his first week slips away from him.

A routine is formed, and every day is nearly identical.

They start with a rush to get dressed and showered after hitting the snooze button on his phone too many times, then another rush to get out the door as him and Pepper trip over each other in the kitchen, both attempting to eat breakfast while they prepare their lunches. If they’re talking, it’s always about how they’re jealous of Tony who’s very flexible schedule allows him to stay sleeping for several more hours. 

His car ride to school is quiet. Happy’s perfectly fine to let Peter zone out in the backseat, while he mindlessly scrolls through his phone or attempts to finish his breakfast. He isn’t fully awake until he’s chatting with Ned by his lock, the whole three or four minutes he has extra until the warning bell sends them all scurrying to class. 

His classes pass by a blur. He’s playing catch up. Technically, he’s still a semester behind on all the core subjects, and even with Tony bullying the school into letting him test out of a semester with full credits, even with him acing every single one of those tests, they’re still gaps. It’s a hustle to fill them. He doesn’t mind it, though. It’s a distraction from the worry his identity can be shattered at any second.

Well, at least most of his classes make him forget. 

Sitting in Biology next to Flash serves the exact opposite. It’s impossible to think about anything except his impending doom while Mr. Brewer stalks around the classroom, looking for an excuse to correct or bully. He hadn’t been lying the first day. He does treat everyone as miserably as Peter, but he can’t help noticing the side glances, the looking at Peter when he’s talking about certain aspects of Biology. Puts him on edge. Makes him grip the edge of the black marble worktable.

He spends his evenings in the workshop with Tony. He sits at the desk quietly scribbling answers on his worksheets while Tony quietly tinkers around with Iron Man suit upgrades. If Tony thinks it’s strange he’s choosing to complete his homework down there instead of at his own desk in his bedroom, he has enough decency not to say so out loud.

It isn’t until Peter brings up a certain topic that the man expresses any kind of annoyance at all. 

“Hey Tony,” he says, turning his pencil over in his hand, and waiting for Tony’s attention to shift. “Did you know there’s a bunch of dogs that get left behind on the coast when there’s hurricanes?" 

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, and there’s suspicious written in every line of his face as he stares back at Peter. He doesn’t say a word, and his silence propels Peter forward with his agenda. 

“Their families can’t evacuate with them for whatever reason, and they just abandon them.”

“This is what you’re learning about at your genius school?” 

“No. It’s on YouTube.”

“We’re not getting a dog, Pete.”

Pete sighs, presses his pencil back down to his paper, and goes back to work.

When the second week of school rolls around, Tony stays true to his promise and lets him work Spider-Man into his schedule. Just on the three weeknights he doesn’t have to visit Dr. Walters, just until eleven, and just because, as Tony says, he needs something cathartic to relieve his stress. 

He hates hearing Tony saying things like that. He likes to believe he’s better at hiding than that, but any illusion he has of playing it cool is wiped away on the morning of the field trip while him and Pepper are doing their usual dance around the kitchen. He’s out of it. Completely wrapped up in his own head, playing out a nightmare scenario where every headline is a hit piece on him, on his biological father, on his status as a mutant.

Pepper’s hand brushes his arm as she reaches for the bowl of chopped lettuce for her salad and Peter jumps, spins in place to find the threat. His heart jumps to his throat, there’s a sharp intake of breath, until he releases, until he sees there’s no threat. Just a very concerned Pepper looking back at him.  

“Are you alright, Peter?” 

“I’m good,” he says, but his heart is still thrashing around in his chest. “Really. I promise. Just tired.”

She accepts his answer with a creased face, and they go their separate ways for the day.

Since it’s a field trip day, Peter skips meeting Ned by his locker and instead goes directly to the cafeteria, joining him and MJ at a corner table. The break in routine of a typical day is refreshing, even if it is with the Biology department and it means spending most the day with Mr. Brewer instead of the usual fifty-two minutes. It’s not too worrying. He’ll be easily avoidable with the other students, teachers and chaperones around.

Peter uses the time waiting to text Harry and scroll YouTube for a sad dog video to send Pepper. The funny ones he’s sent her in the past haven’t achieved his goal, so he’s switching it up.

The warning bell rings and prompts MJ to sling her bag over her shoulder and stand, leaving both Peter and Ned to question her with their eyes. 

“I’m not going,” she tells them. “I would rather sit through an extra study hall than celebrate animal testing.”

She turns and marches through the throng of fellow ninth graders gathering in the cafeteria for the field trip while both boys watch her as she leaves. The thought of animal testing makes Peter’s stomach turn, but he shakes it off. Choosing not to dwell. He doesn’t want the room to start spinning, and he doesn’t think the tour they’ll be receiving of Lily Research will include the backrooms where experimentation takes place. 

He’s wrong.

The tour is a series of boring rooms and explanations. They pass through hallway after hallway, every single one looking exactly the same, with stark white walls and a shiny yellow-ish floor. There’s a sterile smell in the air they never seem to escape from, no matter which turns they take, and Peter supposes it’s fine. A pharmaceutical research center should be clean, after all, but the blech smell stretches even into the next room they visit. It’s only there where it starts to make him feel sick.

Ten or so students, led by Mr. Brewer and behind him, Flash, file into a room with cages lining the left wall. It figures he and Ned would get stuck with both the worse chaperone and the worse company. The tour guide begins to explain what happens in this room, but Peter doesn’t need any explanations. He blocks out everything being said as his eyes wonder over the cages, neatly stacked on top of each other and white rabbits poking their heads out near the bars, locked up on the inside.

He gets stuck on one rabbit in particular. A smaller one. Not quite a baby, but not really an adult. It’s black eyes stare holes into Peter, and he clenches his fist. Not from anger. He’s trying to hold it off, or maybe brace himself for the rush to his head, the sudden tilting of the earth he can’t even prevent with his superpowers.

These white walls might as well be grey, and this building might as well be a prison.

Peter might as well be a rabbit. 

And he’s very young again. Lying on a metal table. There’s a spider crawling around on his arm, looking for a place to bite down while more than a few scientists with clipboards and whitecoats watch. There’s no sympathy in their eyes. Even as Peter begs for it. They’re only lit with fascination about what comes next. After the bite.

“Stark?” 

Peter’s pulled to reality, and he whips his head around in all directions, looking for Tony, until he’s all the way back, remembering with a sense of dread where exactly he is and who’s speaking to him. Mr. Brewer stands closer than he had been before. Too close to be comfortable, but despite the closeness, he still can’t read his expression. Sympathetic fascination. A combination Peter isn’t comfortable with.

“Do you need to take a break?” he asks him.

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure? It’s understandable… not everyone is equipped to handle the reality of sacrifices these animals provide for our improvement.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Mr. Brewer frowns and narrows his eyes at the tone but walks back to the other side of the room without another word, back towards Flash.

Ned elbows him.

“Dude, are you really okay?”

“Yeah – I just, maybe we should’ve skipped with MJ.” 

He nods his agreement, and Mr. Tour Guide takes questions about the sort of testing the rabbits undergo, all for the betterment of overpriced pharmaceuticals. Peter’s eyes drift back over to the cages. That same rabbit is still staring at him, and it compels him to inch over to it. He’s not planning on using his spider strength to break the lock on the cage, but when surveys the room and finds nobody is paying attention to him, he slips the small lock between his finger and his thumb.

He crushes it.

He sticks his hand in the cage and has the rabbit in his grasp when he twists his neck backwards locking eyes with Flash.  He’s watching him, and all Peter can do is freeze as he’s watching Mr. Brewer’s head start to turn, his attention begins to shift away from the tour guide. Flash looks at the teacher next to him, taps him on the shoulder and points at something in Peter’s opposite direction.

Peter knows a well-placed distraction when he sees one. He’s quick about removing the rabbit from the cage and carefully putting him in the front pocket of his hoodie. By the time Mr. Brewer finally levels his look of suspicious at him, he’s standing innocently next to Ned, pretending to soak up everything the tour guide is saying. 

On their way out of the room, Peter and Flash exchange looks again. 

The rest of the tour Peter keeps one hand in his pocket to keep the rabbit from hopping around, the whole time imagining he looks as if he’s about to rob a convenience store. No one seems to notice, or care, and he makes it until lunch without anyone finding out about his new friend.

“You stole one of the rabbits?” Ned’s question is framed in a high-pitched fast voice, and his eyes dart around the cafeteria, making sure no is watching them and see’s the rabbit Peter holds under the table. 

“Rescued,” says Peter. He picks a piece of lettuce off his sandwich with his free hand and offers it the rabbit.

Ned stumbles over some words, but once he’s done, he sighs.

“I guess it’s better than the alternative.” 

“We need to think of a name.”

“Dude,” says Ned. “Don’t get attached. You know your dad won’t let you keep him.” 

Peter covers a sneeze with his arm, and let’s himself feel relieved for the first time in a long time. There’s no anticipation about Tony’s reaction to sharing his living space with a rabbit, but reassurance, that at least Ned still thinks the lie is true, that he’s still Tony’s son in somebody’s eyes even if there are people who see through him.

When it’s time to leave the cafeteria and load back onto the buses to go back to school, Peter stashes the still unnamed rabbit in his lunch box, taking special care to leave some lettuce behind and not zip it up on the way. Instead of looking like he’s hiding a gun, he fears he’s looking like he’s a bit crazy, holding his supposedly empty lunch box as it’s a bomb that might go off if it’s handled incorrectly.

* * *

Peter sets his lunch box down on the kitchen count and unzips it all the way. He’s met with an unpleasant smell, so he scoops the rabbit up and out of the container before tossing it into the trash can. He’s never using that again. He puts the rabbit down where his discard lunch box used to be and takes a couple steps backwards. He shakes his ears, wiggles his nose and tilts his head, all while staring at Peter with blank and black eyes.

“I guess I should feed you,” says Peter. He waits a couple of seconds, as if he’s expecting the animal to respond, but eventually he sticks his head in the fridge, searching for something green and fresh while he stifles back a sneeze.

He settles for the container of cucumbers, and he’s feeding a slice to the rabbit as Pepper steps out of the elevator. She sees him standing in the kitchen, approaches, then stops when her gaze drops a fraction.

“Peter…” she says. “Why is there a rabbit on my kitchen counter?”

He searches for the best explanation but finds none that doesn’t allude to him having stolen property, even if said property is actually a living and breathing animal. He’s also doesn’t want to admit out loud taking the rabbit hadn’t been a conscience decision, but one bred from trying to curb his anxiety before he got completely lost in it.

“Because I couldn’t have a dog?” 

The rabbit hops down the counter, closer to where Peter stands, and Tony is summoned via FRIDAY.

It’s quiet for several seconds as Tony takes in what he’s walked into. Pepper looking a cross between amused and irritated, and Peter holding a rabbit and trying to get it to eat a slice of cucumber.

Tony crosses his arms.

“Explain.” 

“I had to bring him back here,” says Peter. “They were going to run experiments on him.” 

“Did you – did you take this… this thing from that research place you went to today?”

“Rescued.”

There’s a dramatic, over exaggerated sigh as Tony puts a hand through his hair. He meets Peter’s eyes. “You better hope they don’t have security cameras, or that you weren’t caught on one.”

Peter hasn’t yet considered that, but the thought is troubling. He doesn’t want to make the headlines again. He’s talked about enough without another news story circulating about him, even if it is for something most people would consider noble. Tony continues his sharp look, so Peter takes a couple of steps towards him and outstretches his hands, offering him a good look at the bunny.

“Look at him,” he says, and as if on cue, the rabbit wiggles his nose, twitches his ears. “I couldn’t just leave him there.”

Tony takes a breath, then says with no real conviction, “Get it out of my face.”

“Are you afraid of him?” 

“No. I just don’t want to develop any diseases carried by rodents.”

Pepper chuckles, and Tony turns his indignation on her.

“Is this funny to you? There’s a pest in our home and our son is a thief.”

“Rescuer, and technically rabbits don’t fall into the rodent category,” says Peter, and before he can stop it or catch it with his arm, he sneezes. “… I think I’m allergic to him.”  

A compromise is made. That the rabbit can stay, but only as long as it takes for Peter to find him a good home. Pepper serves as the negotiator, and she seals the deal with Tony by observing, out loud, that Peter is finally back to acting normal. This observation brings Peter’s good mood to a screeching and devasting halt. Makes him aware his life is always under a microscope, whether it’s Tony or Pepper or the media that finds Starks so interesting. 

And also, it returns his thoughts to a familiar track. He imagines how much more interesting a fake, mutant Stark would be to the world’s press, and he remembers Mr. Brewer somehow knowing, somehow breaking him out of his living nightmare earlier in the rabbit room. If the man knows about Peter’s past, he brought him to that place looking for a reaction, and it turns the fear, the pressure, into something else. Fuel for the fire building behind his eyes.

* * *

Never, in a million years, did Tony think he’d ever be standing in his spare room, in the middle of the day, assembling a large cage for his rabbit boarder. Its tiny eyes are staring up at him from the smaller, temporary cage he spent the night in. There aren’t any witnesses around when he transfers him to his new home, so he strokes him a couple of times between the ears. He stands in front of the cage, watching the rabbit hop around haplessly, sending bedding up in every direction as he does.

Tony is fortunate Peter is allergic to the dumb thing, or he might be tempted to keep it around.

His life lately is one unprecedented event after another.

First, it’s the bunny and its cage, then it’s getting a call from Peter’s school telling him to come pick him up. He’s suspended. Next is sitting in the Principal’s office listening as he explains why Peter is getting suspended for two days, and it’s a silent drive home. Peter stares out the window, looking anywhere but at him, and Tony’s trying to figure out how to handle a kid who got suspended from school for yelling at his teacher.

Days like these he’s sure the magazines and the talk shows are right about him. Tony Stark has no idea how to be a parent, but at least, by the time they’re getting off the elevator, he’s made up his mind about something. Enough with the mystery. They’re going to have a conversation, and Peter is going to tell him what’s bothering him. 

Predictably, he tries to go straight to his bedroom, but Tony redirects him to the couch. Peter sinks into the cushions, and it reminds him every bit of their first time they ever talked this way, talked to resolve a problem and compromise. Peter looks every bit as angry now as he did back then.

Tony sits across from him on the coffee table. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” 

“Yeah, no. Not buying it,” says Tony. “Something’s been off with you lately and we’ve all noticed.”

“Nothing is going on,” says Peter. His words are fast and frantic and obviously a lie. It worries Tony even more. Peter usually at least tries to make his lies believable. “Mr. Brewer is just… out to get me.”

“Out to get you?” Tony repeats. This is for Peter’s benefit. So he can hear how ridiculous it sounds. “Your Biology teacher is out to get you, so you yelled at him and walked out of class?”

“If you’re not going to believe me why even ask?”

Tony shifts his position on the table and continues staring at Peter, as if he’ll eventually be able to read his mind. It’s a childish accusation that’s completely beneath him, and it continues his recent trend of acting outside of himself.

Peter breaks eye contact and looks at his knees.

“Am I in trouble?” 

“You were suspended from school, Peter.”

“I mean with you.” 

“No,” says Tony.

He’s not interested in punishing him. Peter doesn’t need to be grounded or have his Xbox taken away or yelled at. He needs something Tony has yet to grasp, something he would give away in a heartbeat if he could just figure out what’s wrong.

“I just want to know what’s bothering you,” says Tony. “So I can fix it." 

“You can’t.”

The absolute confidence in Peter’s voice cuts into Tony. There aren’t many things in this life he can’t fix, either with his wealth or intellect, but it figures one of them has to do with his son. Stark men aren’t cut out to be fathers.

“Can I go to my room now?”

Tony nods. He watches him disappear into the hallway without ever getting up from the coffee table. So much for solving the mystery. He’s in the same place he started, except this time he’s sure he’s failed somewhere in the past couple of days. It’s the only explanation about why he can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with his kid.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is a little bit late, but life in December... ugh. Anyways, thanks so much for reading this, and all the people who've bookmarked or left kudos or commented! The next one we'll prob be posted in about a week!


	3. the realization

  1. the realization



 

Peter tilts his head up to the sky. He can see every detail of the sharp and cold rain falling from the darkness up above, thanks to night vision and other vision enhancing technologies Tony installed into Spider-Man’s mask. He stands between two buildings, in an alley, in Queens, but his senses extend pass the space he occupies physically, stretching and searching for his perfect chance, the opportunity to prove Mr. Brewer wrong.

He drops his chin and fixes his gaze straight ahead, waiting two minutes, waiting five minutes. There’s nothing. It figures crime would fizzle out the one evening he needs it to exist the most. Peter aims a kick at a nearby puddle, sending water splashing across the fragmented concrete, then trudges closer to one of the building, standing in the shadows to avoid being seen.

The rain water hitting him simply bounces off. Another one of the suit’s advantages. Tony thought of everything when it comes to the suit, and yet, Peter’s out on the streets without his permission. Usually he asks, but this time he already knew the answer, so he didn’t bother. Right now, he’s supposed to be sitting across from Dr. Walters, ignoring her questions and pretending like he doesn’t know that she knows that’s what he’s doing.

There’s only a fraction of guilt, and that’s for disappointing Tony and probably causing him to worry. None for his missed appointment. This is more important than that. This is going to heal him better than anything Dr. Walters can tell him or teach him. 

If only he could find someone to help, to save, he can prove he’s more than his broken DNA. That the dark part of his genetic coding, the part that comes from Richard, isn’t affecting him the way Mr. Brewer claims it is. It’s what finally caused him to snap. The old nature vs. nurture debate.

Something wild and untamable had been unleashed when Mr. Brewer looked at him and said.“Stark is a good example. He wasn’t raised by his father and yet he acts exactly like him.”

Everyone in class assumed he was talking about Tony, but Peter knows, he’s convinced, he’d been talking about Richard. Why would he be talking about Tony? Peter never measures up to Iron Man, always falls short in one way or another, and he’s sure that’s the reason the rumors spread so easily. It just isn’t believable anymore. That he’s Tony’s son. People have gotten to know him, and no doubt, have seen the darkness inside him, the darkness Richard’s shadow casts.

No. He shakes his head, pushes against the thought and stomps back out to the middle of the alley. That’s why he’s out here. To prove this wrong. He’s not monster, even if he shares DNA with one. He just needs something, needs someone to -

Then he hears it. A demand for money. Someone grunting with pain and surprise.

Peter’s chance to silence the demons, or at least for a little while. He flings himself up and on top of the building next to him, then crouches down on the rooftop, one hand on the surface and the other gripping his knee as he surveys the situation down below. There’s two men. One holds the other against the building with a knife. More whispering. More desperate pleas for money, and the knife gets closer to the victim’s throat. Either one of them notice Peter until he lands, gracefully, stray pieces of wet gravel crunching under his feet. They both stare, shocked, until the mugger’s hand loosens, and the victim takes his opportunity to run away, disappearing into the night.

It’s just the two of them, staring each other down, and Peter makes the first move. He disarms him. Sends his knife flying across the alley with one of his webs. The mugger watches it go, and he’s neither laughing nor afraid. When his eyes return to Peter, he blinks a couple of times.

“So, I guess you’re that spider-freak everyone’s been talking about.”

On a normal night, he’d think of something clever to say, but the mugger’s words land wrong, something inside him twists and he clenches and unclenches his fist over and over as the stare down continues. 

The mugger looks him up and down. “What were you, born out of some test tube, or something?”

Peter charges at him. Slams into him and throws him against the building to let him see what it feels like to be powerless, like being strapped down to a metal table or stuck sitting behind a desk. He punches him once for Mr. Brewer, who’s the core of all his fears. Punches him again for the rumors, the glances. Another one for his broken DNA and everything bad in his life, everything he wishes he could wipe from existence.

Which brings him to the last punch, the one that’s for Richard and the many ways he screwed up the world while he was alive. Peter’s breath comes out shaky as he pulls his fist back. Then stops. His eyes meet the mugger’s, and there’s nothing there except fear, directed at him.

“…please I have,” he gasps, and struggles against Peter’s hold on him. “I have a family… just tryin’ to get money for food.”

The words are far away. Most of Peter’s focus belongs to the blood on his hands. It’s the same blood oozing from the man’s lip. Peter lets go, and he takes several steps backwards, watching as this man runs away just as quickly as the first one had. In terror and relief.

He looks around. There’s no one here except him. No one to watch him save the first one, and no one to watch him terrorize the second. No one to prove anything to, except himself, and he hasn’t even accomplished that.

He finds a puddle and washes the blood off his hands, too impatient to wait for the rain to do its job and make everything clean. He could’ve killed that man, would’ve if he’d been punching with his whole strength, and as he stares down at his reflection in the water, he’s happy that he’s at least wearing his Spider-Man mask. If he wasn’t, it might be Richard Parker looking back up at him.

Or at least Peter Parker, but they might as well be the same and soon, thanks to Mr. Brewer, the entire world is going to know. He keeps looking into the water, wondering what to do next, where to go now that he can’t even be trusted to save people without injuring someone else. He runs through the list of possibilities.

Spider-Man would stay in Queens, crawling up and down buildings, hunting for people to help, for villains to stop. Peter Parker would curl up on this ground, suffering alone and in the rain. The last possibility is a realization that hits him like a warm blanket falling over his shoulders when it’s chilly at night on the beach, or hot pizza when his stomach is empty and growling. 

Go home. 

Peter can just go home.

Home where Tony is probably waiting for him with snacks, despite his getting suspended from school, skipping therapy and taking the suit without asking. Tony’s always there, even when he knows he’s being smothering, and Peter wants him to go away. Quite possibly, he’s the only person who knows him as all three parts of himself. Well, him and Pepper. To them, he’s just Peter. Their son.

It’s been stated multiple times, but if the world stops believing it, if everyone finds out about his real dad, does it mean it isn’t true anymore? 

It’s a desperate question, and it’s followed by desperate actions. Peter bypasses the security buffer put between Spider-Man and the Stark penthouse. He swings directly back to his building, lands outside the glass doors and trudges across the lobby still in suit. Once the elevator doors shut, he takes his mask off. 

He doesn’t need it when he’s home.

And he’d been correct. Tony is waiting for him in the kitchen, with his face behind a laptop screen, like everything is so completely normal. As if this a regular evening, as if patrol were on the schedule and Peter didn’t break the rules. He stands there, in the foyer, feet glued to the floor, wondering how he missed it before and why it’s so clear now.

“Oh look who it is,” says Tony. He’s still looking down at his screen, and that’s good. Peter doesn’t think he can manage meeting his eyes. His guilt swells. In the worse way, the way it does when someone refuses to bite back. “The genius who skipped his session today – “

Tony’s voice cuts off as he looks up and sees him. Peter immediately directs his eyes to the floor.

“Peter what’s wrong? What happened?” 

His eyes drift around the room, looking for a resting place that isn’t Tony, but when he finds none, when he realizes he can’t avoid looking at the man forever, his brown eyes meet another pair of brown eyes, just like his. An ache that’s also a wish explodes somewhere in his chest. He just needs something, needs someone – 

“… Dad,” says Peter, hoarse and imploring. “I… I messed up.” 

Tony’s expression softens, the same way it did months ago when they glared at each other through the glass they eventually broke together. There’s none left. Nothing left to separate them as Tony closes the distance and pulls him into a hug.

“Whatever it is I can fix it,” says Tony, and this time, Peter believes him, although he’s not even sure what exactly is broken. 

He can’t pinpoint the specific mistake he’s referring to. Losing control in the classroom and yelling at his teacher. Skipping therapy. Using the suit without permission. Beating up the mugger, not out of necessity or self-defense, but from anger. Maybe it’s none of the above. The greatest mistake, maybe, is he forgot. That he’s Peter Stark and Peter Parker and Spider-Man, and it’s okay that he’s all three.

He knew once. He forgot, but now, standing here with Tony, he remembers.

Peter’s about to tell him anything, about how he fears one day he’ll look in the mirror and see Richard, about how Mr. Brewer already sees he’s just like Richard, but before he can say anything, Tony shifts. He pulls away, holds Peter at arm’s length and looks him in the eyes.

“Did anyone see you? Coming in?”

Peter forgot he’s still wearing the suit, and reality comes closing back in. “Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s going to find out about me anyway.”

“How?”

There’s some resistance, in his head, to talk about the truth. He’s not sure he wants to admit to what he’s been thinking the past couple of weeks out loud. When he thinks about it, thinks about how to verbalize it, he realizes how paranoid it’s going to sound. How ridiculous. Just another repeat of telling Tony earlier Mr. Brewer is out to get him, but Peter can tell by Tony’s grip on his arm, by the look in his eyes, that he isn’t going to let him walk away again without him getting to the bottom of this. 

He’s trapped here in the foyer, and also in his head, until he gets it all out there, so that’s what he does. He tells Tony about everything, even the parts he thinks sound stupid, and by the time he’s done, he’s empty, but in the best way, like all the dread and stress leave with his words.

* * *

“I’m gonna kill him,” says Tony. He’s abandoned his glass of whiskey at the bar, and he’s currently pacing through the living room. Pepper sits on the couch watching him go back and forth, back and forth. She’s his only audience.

He sent Peter to bed hours ago and endured all the whining that comes with telling Peter to do anything he deems makes him sound like a child. Eventually, he slunk off to his room, and only about ten minutes later, FRIDAY informed him he was completely asleep. Only when Peter is asleep, and Tony knows he’s asleep, is it safe for him to unleash his anger.

Peter plays off his emotions, or at least that’s what Catherine always tells him. If Tony is freaking out, then Peter is freaking out, and then Tony will freak out even more trying to help him calm down. A cycle that’s best to avoid, if possible, and so around Peter, if he can help it, he’s steady, calm. Right now, however, with just Pepper, he lets it all go.

“You’re not going to kill anyone,” she tells him.

Tony turns at the window and stomps back to where Pepper sits on the couch. He stops when he gets to her, tilts his head when he notices she doesn’t look the appropriate level of angry for this situation. Or angry, at all, actually.

“He’s messing with our son’s head.”

“Is he?” asks Pepper. “Or is he just doing his job?”

“You don’t believe him?” 

“I believe that Peter believes it,” says Pepper. “But isn’t it possible he’s being paranoid about this? He thinks this teacher knows about everything, even Richard, but really, how likely is that?”

It’d been so easy earlier to dismiss Peter’s claim about his evil biology teacher, but hearing it a second time, with more details, threw him into something close to a rage. Peter has enough to deal with without having a hard time at school, and Tony will do anything to make it easier for him, even if it means becoming one of those parents. The kind that get made fun of on TV shows and movies for being overly involved and overly concerned.

“The Richard part is unlikely,” admits Tony. Even he didn’t know Richard Parker had been involved with Norman’s scheme, let alone one of the architects of it, until Peter pointed him in the right direction.

But the rest of it isn’t at all unlikely, and Tony’s surprised there hasn’t been any rumors suggesting Peter Stark walked out of the same lab Tony busted only months after the world was introduced to Peter. It’s the stuff conspiracy theories are made out of, and yet, there are none. Not about that anyway. Lately the media only cares about his bad parenting, why Peter spends so much time going in and out of Dr. Walter’s office, and his stunt on Turtle Pond with the frozen and drowning dog.

Maybe they should stage another Peter Stark animal rescue. It would certainly distract bored news anchors and talk show hosts from the truth.

Although, from what it sounds like, it won’t distract Brewer. 

“I’m going to that school tomorrow,” says Tony. He begins his pacing again, ignoring Pepper’s sigh.

“And that will accomplish…”

“I want him fired.”

“And that will help Peter, how, exactly?” asks Pepper. “This teacher sounds like a bully, sure, but he’s just aggravating what we already knew would happen. What Catherine told us would happen once he’s back to real life. He’s stressed. He has cameras following him everywhere, along with everything else he’s going through, and he’s not used to it yet. It’s enough to make anyone crumble under the pressure, or a little paranoid…” 

Tony stalks back over to the bar and reclaims his whiskey, rubbing his thumb against the chilled glass, and wondering how in the world life turned him in a worried soccer dad, about to storm into his child’s school and demand justice. He doesn’t mind it actually, not as much as he minds being absolutely clueless as to what to do to help Peter.

He takes out his phone, scrolls through the contacts and taps on Nat’s name. If anyone knows anything about the teachers at that school, it’s her, and even if she doesn’t know anything about him, she can look into it. Extensive background checks were performed on every staff member in that school before they placed Peter there last fall. A safety precaution Tony insisted on, and if there’s anything not right about Brewer, it’ll be listed there, as well as other bits of information he can use if he needs Brewer to be removed from the school quietly.

After he’s done asking her for what he needs, he ends the call and drains his whiskey, before joining Pepper on the couch. It catches up with him. The day. One event in particular pulls it’s steals his focus.

“Peter called me dad tonight.”

Without any cameras around, without any members of the public to see a performance. It’d been real and raw, and something he didn’t know he wanted until he heard it out loud. 

“Tony, that’s great,” says Pepper.

“There’s a lot of baggage that comes with that.”

Pepper heaves another sigh, maybe a bit annoyed and rolls her eyes. “God, you and Peter are so dramatic. You’ve been his dad for a long time now, the doesn’t change anything, and Tony, you’re a good father and I’m too tired tonight to list all the reasons why you’ll never be Howard so just trust me when I tell you, you’ll never be Howard. I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.”

Pepper slides off the couch, leaving Tony to sit in the dark living room alone, until he slowly gets up to follow her, his brain turning with a new revelation. Something that should have been obvious before, but only just now starting to click. That haunted look on his face, him calling him dad, like he’s trying to erase Richard from existence. Tony knows what that’s like and should’ve guessed a while ago him and Peter have the same struggle.

They’re afraid of the same outcome, of becoming their fathers, except for Peter it’s a completely ridiculous fear. He’ll never be anywhere close to being Richard.

As he crawls into bed next to Pepper, he’s crushingly aware he isn’t much further along thinking up a way to help Peter deal with any of this. Understanding his struggle and knowing how to handle are very different, especially when he’s barely qualified to help himself. He stares up at the ceiling, supposes that he’ll never be able to completely take away the stress and the pressure, but he can at least find something to relieve it a little bit.

His mind drifts back to that stupid rabbit, probably in its cage, hoping around or sleeping. Pepper had been right. Peter never looked less stressed out or strained than he did on that day, and although Tony doesn’t know if it’s from the adrenaline rush he gets from the act of saving, or the animal itself, he makes a decision.

 “Damnit,” says Tony, causing Pepper to turn on her side and pop her eyes open. “We’re getting a puppy.”

“Peter doesn’t want a puppy. He wants a rescue.” 

“Of course he does.” 

“We’re better off. Puppies are bad for the furniture.”

Once his life was about alien invasions and terrorists, and occasionally, it still has those monsters, but now, it’s mostly about dogs and rabbits and evil biology teachers. They’re just as stressful, in an odd way, and it’s still all a little unbelievable. That this is his life now, but maybe the most unbelievably of it all is that Tony doesn’t even care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, so just one more chap of this one left. I know I said there would be five, but honestly this fic has turned out much shorter and a lot different than what I imagined when I was brainstorming for it. Thanks so much for everyone reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, subscribing and leaving comments!!


	4. the reality check

  1. the reality check



 

His alarm doesn’t go off, but his body, used to the rushed routine, wakes him up anyway. It’s an odd feeling. Not having anywhere to be, but nice. He can stay under these covers all day if he wants, and after the last couple of weeks, there’s nothing he rather do than sleep the day away. Lying in his bed, peaceful with the sun streaming in on his face, he can’t understand how a suspension is a supposed to be a punishment.

This break from his routine and reality is a gift. Besides the missed assignments, he sees no downside to this vacation.

He pulls his blanket closer and sinks his head back into the pillows. He doesn’t know how long he’s floating there, a space somewhere between consciousness and his dreams, but somehow, he’s on the beach and in his bed at the same time. He’s watching the waves and listening to the lullaby of the sea. 

All of this is ripped away from him by Tony suddenly appearing on the beach, and when that disappears, by his bedside. “Up. Up. Up.”

Peter lifts his head, and blinks.

“Shower,” says Tony. He points to the bathroom.

Peter sits up, rubs his eyes and blinks a few more times. “Let’s go back to the beach.”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want if you make it through the rest of the semester without getting anymore suspensions,” says Tony.

“Even Disneyland?”

“No. That’s the exception,” says Tony. He looks around the room a bit, before settling down on Peter’s bed. “We should probably talk about that… your favorite teacher. I found out some things.”

“Okay. What?”

“Well, he definitely hates your father.”

Peter’s mind swims, his world turns and the tightening in his chest must make its present clear on the outside of him as well. Tony has horror flash across his face, then quickly amends his original statement.

“Me. Not Richard,” says Tony. “You were so focused on Richard, you couldn’t see there another perfectly viable dad candidate for him to hate just as much.” 

“But you –“ 

“-have done plenty of shitty things in my lifetime,” says Tony. “Nat looked into his file. Turns out we have a history.”

Peter wants to question what kind of history, but Tony doesn’t look like he wants to discuss it. Instead, he allows relief to replace all his questions. He lets out a breath and falls back down flat on his back.

“That’s great news.”

“Uh huh,” says Tony. “So glad you think so. Now get up. We’ve got places to go, people to see.”

Peter sits up again. “But I’m suspended.”

“Point?”

“You’re supposed to take away all my electronics and make me stay in my room to study in silence.”

“Sounds boring. I like my plan better,” says Tony. “Shower.” 

With a groan, Peter stumbles off to the bathroom. He lets the hot water wake him up and rinse all the stress away. All that worrying for absolutely nothing. For all the misfortune at the beginning of his life, in this moment, he dares to feel lucky. Having good fortune enough to land in family who seeks to understand and fix instead of punishing. When he’s done with his shower, he puts on one of the sweaters he got for Christmas. It’ll make Pepper happy, and he’ll never admit it out loud, but he does like the clothes they picked out for him, even if they are nicer than what he’s been used to.

He stops in the spare room to feed the still unnamed rabbit before joining Tony in the kitchen, realizing with a frown that it’s very late in the morning and that means Pepper’s already gone to work. He sits at the table and watches the back of Tony’s head as he prepares something for breakfast on the stove. Something’s sizzling, he flips it with a spatula and shakes the pan. Whatever it is, it smells good but brings a lump in Peter’s throat, brings him to wonder how much of his old life Tony’s sacrificed for this new one.

Peter isn’t worth any of it. Not after last night. He’s not good enough to be the sort of person people make these kinds of sacrifices for, but he can at least voice this out loud. Even if it is selfish, even if he’s only doing so because if these last couple of weeks taught him anything, it’s not to let thoughts like this spiral into full blown paranoia. 

“Ummm Tony.”

“Yeah?” 

“Last night,” starts Peter. He stares at the table. Stares at his hands as he clasps and unclasps them together. “I… I lost control. I started punching this guy and I didn’t think I was going to be able to stop hitting him.”

“You were angry,” says Tony. It’s his best guest, and he’s right. He had been angry. Tony switches off the stove and brings the pan off the heater. Omelets. Peter can see them now. Tony turns, leans against the oven and looks at him. “But you did stop. And you weren’t hitting him at full strength, or he’d be dead, so you couldn’t have really lost control." 

Sometimes it’s so frustrating. Tony sees him through these rose-colored glasses, and that’s not him. Not all the time. He can’t live up to the person Tony thinks he is. After all, it’s Richard Parker’s blood in his veins.

“Maybe I’m turning into Richard,” says Peter. He’s stopped referring to Richard as dad, both in his thoughts and out loud. He prefers to live in the illusion they’ve created for the world that he’s a real Stark.

Tony’s expression remains serious, but with cracks, until those cracks take over completely and he’s grinning. He’s laughing.

“I’m being serious,” says Peter.

He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be solemn as he leaves the stove and sits in the chair next to him. He grabs Peter by the shoulder, the way he does when he wants his full attention, so he forces himself to look at the man even as he’s frustrated.

“Peter. Son,” says Tony. “There’s a bunny in my penthouse.”

Peter continues staring back at him with a frown. He doesn’t understand what the rabbit has to do with any of this, but Tony doesn’t clarify and moves on. Finally, his face grows appropriately solemn and his grip tightens.

“There’s not a single bad strand of DNA in you, and if anyone ever does find out we’re not… biologically related, it’ll be because you’re too good to have come from me.”

Peter didn’t expect this. For the tables to turn. For the self-hating to come from Tony instead of him. It’s another cycle, like the worrying, and it will just go round and round and round until there isn’t any more string left to unwind. Pepper isn’t here to break them out of it, so Peter decides to play her part and drop the subject, even if he doesn’t fully believe Tony. After all, Peter comes from someone, and that someone isn’t good. 

“Pepper always says we deserve each other,” says Peter.

“And she’s usually right,” says Tony. He lifts his hand from his shoulder and messes up his hair, before standing and walking back over to the stove. He returns with two plates and slides one in front of Peter. He wastes no time digging in.

He’s either gotten used to Tony’s cooking, or Tony’s become a good cook.

“So,” says Peter. “Where’re we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The grin on his face pulls at Peter’s suspicion, until he places it. It’s the same one he wore before giving Peter the suit on Christmas, so he’s not entirely surprised later on that day when Tony pulls the car into the parking lot of the humane society. He parks the car, and Peter can’t get out of his seatbelt fast enough. Easier said than done. His excitement causes him to fumble with the buckle longer than he’ll ever admit out loud. 

Finally, it unclicks, and Peter looks at Tony, who’s raising an eyebrow at his struggle. Unimpressed. 

“Yeah, I think you’re secret identity as Spider-Man is safe,” says Tony.

Peter can’t even find the negative energy to be properly offended. “We’re really getting a dog?”

“Pepper and I agreed last night. But,” says Tony, and raises a finger at him. “It’s your responsibility. You’re walking it, feeding it, making sure it doesn’t annoy the hell out of me.” 

“Pretend you don’t like animals all you want,” says Peter, opening the door. “But I’ve seen you petting the rabbit when you think no one’s looking.”

He shuts the door before Tony can say anything else. Peter is already imagining Tony and their new family member becoming best friends while he’s at school and Pepper is at work on their walk into the building. Once they’re inside, their shoes tread on shiny tile floors as they make their way to the front desk. A man in a blue polo looks up from his computer screen.

He does a few double-takes before he finally finds his voice and throws on a smile. Genuine, and warm. “Oh, it’s the Starks. What can I do for you two today?" 

 “We’re looking to get – “ 

“-adopt,” Peter corrects.

“We’re looking to _adopt_ a dog today,” says Tony. “Do you have any that were abandoned during hurricanes?”

“Umm no,” says the man. Peter reads his nametag. Max.

“How about ones that have undergone some sort of weird animal testing?”

“No…”

“Dog fighting ring?”

“Mr. Stark, these are all highly unusual requests.”

Tony clasps his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “He’s highly unusual. I’m just looking to find a good match.”

Peter shrugs out of his grip, looks up at him and grits his teeth. “Dad. Stop.”

Max looks between the two of them, cracks a smile and grabs a ring of keys from the back shelf. “Well we’ll just go have a look around and see if we can’t find the perfect match, then. I imagine the whole family must be a little usual.”

Peter shoots Tony a look of triumph behind Max’s back, but both men miss it as they follow him to a back room. The floor changes from tiles to concrete and the sound of dogs barking over each other fills his ears. It’s a strange mix of feelings. He’s excited he gets to take one home, but he only gets to take one home. They all deserve families. 

“We’re looking for an older dog,” Tony tells Max. “Not a puppy.”

Max nods and they keep moving.

They go through a series of halls, and see a lot of different dogs, but Peter doesn’t see The Dog until they get to the last hallway. Peter looks inside an enclosure and sees a dog with all black fur, except his golden-brown paws. He’s using those as a pillow, or at least a barrier between the hard concrete and his head. Finn, Peter reads his name from the info card by the enclosure, doesn’t bark at them, doesn’t get up to greet like the rest of the dogs. He stays on the ground and acknowledges them only by turning his brown eyes up to meet Peter’s. 

“His family was killed in a home invasion. He was shot and locked in a closet. It’s a miracle he made it out alive, but he doesn’t do much anymore. Not many families want a dog who won’t fetch, you know?”

Peter turns to Tony and they communicate with their eyes. 

“That’s the one,” says Tony.

There’s paperwork, there’s waiting around, there’s a series of volunteers to come and say goodbye to Finn, but after it’s all said and done, Peter and Tony walk out of the humane society with a dog on a leash. Finn follows behind them, at a depressing pace, causing Tony to look back at him several times while Peter pretends not to notice.

Since there isn’t a backseat, Finn sits on the floor on the passenger’s side, and eventually, rests his head on Peter’s knee.

“Let’s go to the park,” says Peter. His bed and his covers don’t sound as appealing as they had this morning.

“We’re due at Dr. Walters in thirty minutes,” says Tony. “I rescheduled the appointment you missed.” 

A missed appointment is a gracious way of putting it. Missed implies an accident, and it had been anything but an accident. Still though, no matter how kind and cautious Tony is being with his words, Peter feels the sting of disappointment. He thought he gotten out of it. Just this once, but he should’ve known, at least by now, there isn’t any avoiding therapy. 

“You know, there’s only so much she can help you when you’re not telling the truth.”

Peter rests his head against the window, stares at the side of the road as it zooms past them and massages Finn’s ears. He doesn’t trust himself to talk, doesn’t want to get into a pointless argument with Tony when their day started off so good. The best actually, the best day Peter’s had in a long time, and he isn’t too stubborn to admit that it’s Tony’s doing.

Tony, who does everything for him, who sacrifices so much, and doesn’t yell at him when he deserves it. Now he’s back to feeling miserable, has effectively thought himself into another cycle guilt for even thinking about an argument, and resolves to try in his session today. He owes it to Tony and Pepper.

* * *

Hours after the dreaded appointment, hours after Tony relents and they go to Central Park to try to get Finn to run around, Peter stands on Flash Thompson’s front porch. The white rabbit is cradled in one arm, and his free hand holds all the necessary equipment to home a pet rabbit. It’d been both a long-shot and a last resort texting Flash to ask if he wanted to take the rabbit, but he figured it was worth trying, after both Ned and MJ told him no.

Flash was, after all, involved in the rescue, and Peter was surprised when he got an affirmative reply. Just a short and simple _sure_.

He appears on the other side of the door when it finally opens, and for a few seconds, they stare at each other, unsure of what to say. He steps outside of his house. Peter shuffles his feet around.

“Thanks for taking him.”

“Iron Man doesn’t like bunnies?”

 “I’m allergic,” says Peter, and acknowledging this causes him to become aware that his eyes are getting watery, his nose threatening to get runny. He steps closer, manages an awkward hand-off with Flash and sets the supplies on the porch. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at school.”

Peter turns and begins walking back towards the street. He’s half-way there when Flash stops him.

“Hey Stark,” he says. “No one really believes those rumors, you know. That you’re some ax murder who killed Osborn. It’s, like, a joke. Cause you’re so fucking soft.” 

Peter opens and closes his mouth several times as his eyes narrow. Flash doesn’t look so tough himself standing on a porch holding a bunny, but in the end, he just simply tells him goodbye and retreats to the car where Tony is waiting with the engine still running. He gets in, slams the door and watches Flash’s house until he can’t see it anymore. If there’s anyone who doesn’t him through rose-colored glasses, it’s Flash.

Finn waits for them by the elevator, and follows Peter back to his bedroom, trotting a couple of steps behind him with low-energy. Finn is a strange dog. Tony jokes he’s defective because at the park earlier he’d been uninterested in chasing squirrels or even running wild like most dogs usually do, but for all his strangeness, Peter knows they picked the right one. He’s only been in the family a few hours and has already correctly chosen Peter as his favorite Stark.

He stops at his bedroom’s door, pats Finn on the head and lets his eyes drift over the drawer. The one hiding the folder filled with the last ruminants of his childhood. It’s calling to him now. These pieces of his past part of him still wants to ignore. Spurred on by something he can’t understand, he walks across the room, digs the folder out and holds it with both hands. Stares at it. 

Peter still isn’t used to asking for help when he needs it, but also, he’s not a stranger to it anymore. He takes the folder back out to the living room with him, Finn following still, and finds Tony and Pepper cozy on the couch. Both of them look at him expectantly when he puts himself between them and the TV.

“Do… do you guys want to look at these with me?” he asks, as he holds up the folder.

“Of course,” says Tony.

Pepper scoots over and makes room for him to sit between them. He does, and like always, the new normal, Finn follows.  

“No. Not on the fu –“ Pepper starts, but it’s too late. Finn attempts to himself between Peter and Tony, and when that doesn’t work out, drapes himself across their laps, resting his head on Pepper’s legs. He looks up at her, innocent and with a whine. “Oh fine, I guess this is okay.”

She scratches his head, and Peter uses his frame as a prop to hold the folder up. He takes a second, takes a breath, then slowly opens it.

“Oh, look at this,” says Pepper. She reaches over and retrieves the crayon drawing that’s sitting on top. “Is this Steve? Rescuing a kitten? Nice to know this animal obsession started at a young age…”

Peter laughs, and it all just seems very normal, like they’re just like any other family sitting around looking at a photo album.

“I don’t see any drawings of Iron Man in here,” says Tony. He’s taken the rest of the drawings, and he’s tearing through them, leaving Peter with just the photos.

He takes them out and flips through them. Pictures of him with his dead mother, and his evil, dead father fly through his hands. Snap-shots of an unhappy childhood. They’re smiling in every single picture, but the eyes are all wrong. His eyes. His mother’s eyes. They seem sad. And most of all, Richard’s eyes. Even when he was breathing he looked dead. He gets to the last one. A family Christmas card. Richard is wearing a Santa hat, and the smile planted across his face is chilling. 

It’s in that moment he knows, without a doubt, he’ll never be Richard. He can never get his face to lie for him that way.

Something else isn’t right about this picture. It seems… heavier than the rest, and his breath catches when he sticks his nail between it and another photo stuck to the back of it. He pulls them apart, and he’s greeted with real smiles. It’s Peter and Uncle Ben and Aunt May. There isn’t anything fake about the happiness in this photo.

Peter doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He didn’t think there was anything left of his aunt and uncle, but here it is. It’s evidence he never wants to erase or forget about. It’s a reminder. That Ben was here, and he was Richard’s brother and there was never anyone kinder than him, at least not in his childhood. If he could survive having the same biology as Richard and turning out okay, Peter can too. 

He looks back and forth between his new parents. Pepper is preoccupied with Finn, petting him and massages his ears, and Tony’s preoccupied with Finn too. He’s trying to arrange himself so he’s not underneath of him anymore. Neither of them notices the hidden picture, and he keeps it that way, tucking it back in the folder. This photo is just for him, but he needs another one. He digs around in his pocket for his cell phone and pulls it out.

“Let’s take a picture,” says Peter.

Tony makes a face, but Pepper glares him into submission. The result is the goofiest picture he’s ever been featured in. He doesn’t care. Weeks later, after printing it using the school computer lab, he puts it away next to a picture of him and his mom, and the picture of his aunt and uncle. The rest of the folder, the drawings he drew as a traumatized child and the pictures with Richard in them go back in the drawer to be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this one! 
> 
> There is one more story in this series, but unfortunately I'm not going to be able to get to it until mid-january-ish. My schedule is hectic in December, and I'm traveling starting the first of the year. I want my full focus to be on this last part and that won't happen if I jump into it with all this other stuff going on. I just want it to be the best it can be, because I've just been so attached to this series, especially the main story. It's going to be a time jump to when Peter is sixteen and Harry is coming back!
> 
> I am going to start writing some IronDad one-shots though (outside of this series) just to keep the habit of writing going until I can pick this back up. I want to have one posted by next week, so we'll see!
> 
> And again, thanks so much for reading and following with this!

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the first time I've uploaded something earlier than I originally said, I kind of can't believe it. So this is the third story, I'm thinking it's going to be 5 chapters, but that might change depending on how long some of them end up being. Thanks so much for everyone leaving kudos, bookmarking, subscribing and leaving your thoughts!! It means so much!! 
> 
> I'm looking to post the second chapter of this Wednesday - Thursday-ish, so see ya then!


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